Heroes of the Storm: Where Angels Dare
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Just because you're drawn into the Nexus, that doesn't mean you can escape the sins you committed in the world you left behind...


**Where Angels Dare**

Yrel knew she was going to die.

In a sense, that didn't mean anything in this place. She had been struck down time and time again, and those she felled always returned as well. Death was nothing in the Nexus. Death was constant. And yet, death still felt like death. That last gasp. That last cry for the gift of life, as sure as the child who was brought into the world cried out for their mother's breast. Death in this place still took you to a place between worlds. And every time, she feared it might be the last. Feared, or at times, hoped. Hoped that when the sword pierced her heart, or the bullet pierced her skull, or magic reduced her to her bones, that she wouldn't come back. That in oblivion, she would be free.

But that wasn't going to happen. What _was _going to happen was that she was going to die at the hands of Garrosh Hellscream. He, who was on the verge of death himself. He, who was covered in blood – most of it from minions, some of it his own, some of it hers – certainly Gorehowl had tasted her flesh, and had thirsted for more. Her armour was similarly drenched and dented. But in this fight, in this time, he had won.

"Draenei…"

Nearly one. She brought up her hammer in a defensive pose, struggling to bear its weight. Struggling to bear her own.

"This is for what you've done."

It was odd, seeing Garrosh not come off as a maniac, she reflected. Odd, but all the more terrifying. He walked to her like the butcher might to the lamb, bearing his axe, and possessing every intention of using it.

"This won't change anything, mag'har," she whispered.

"Mag'har." His eyes narrowed, less the butcher, now more the wolf. "Uncorrupted. Can you say the same?"

Yrel couldn't, so she said nothing.

"Now then," Garrosh said. "Let's see that old spirit. Let's see the monster made manifest."

"What I did, I have not yet-"

Garrosh screamed and brought his axe against her. Not from above, as she'd anticipated, but into her side. Yrel screamed as it cut through iron, flesh, and bone. She screamed once more as he wrenched it out. As she fell into the dirt of the Cursed Hollow, her blood feeding the soil.

"It's been done," Garrosh said.

Yrel knew it had. What he'd done to her. And what some version of her had done to his people. All she could wait now was for judgement to come.

"In any other world, I'd take my time with you." Garrosh knelt down, and in one hand, lifted her head by the horns. In the other, he put down Gorehowl and instead put a knife to her throat. "I would cut your horns. Then your eyes. Then your tongue, before your throat."

"Funny," Yrel whispered. "I thought you'd have enjoyed the screams."

"Like you did?" he whispered.

Yrel didn't say anything. She just lowered her gaze in shame, taking some solace that in every second Garrosh spent here, was one less second he was on the battlefield.

"Say something," he growled.

But then, what did that even mean? If her 'side' one this battle, what did that mean for the Nexus? Certainly nothing more than if Garrosh's won.

"Anything, draenei?" Garrosh said.

The only reason he could even do this to her was that those above them both had pitted them against each other. But then, this was Garrosh Hellscream – he'd have doubt found a way to stick a knife in her back if they'd been allied.

"Fine," Garrosh whispered. "I'll let you scream first."

Yrel, trembling, closed her eyes. She shivered as the knife was brought down against her cheek, scarring her flesh, making its way down to her throat. Her throat, which was warbling. Her throat, which at last, let out a yell – something to offset the touch of iron against flesh.

"At last, you let out a-"

He didn't get to finish that sentence. And when Yrel let out another yell, it was for a very different reason.

Something had grabbed her. It was of draenoid form, but clearly not draenei in of itself. A being of light, with wings of light, similar to the ones that sprouted from her back when she channelled the powers of the naaru. Something that lifted her from the dirt and plopped her onto the path.

"Yrel!"

Something that had extended from Anduin Wrynn.

Garrosh let out a yell. Out of one eye, she could see him charging towards her and the former prince of Stormwind. Out of the other, she could see Anduin channelling more powers of the Light.

"Little wolf, when my axe reaches your head, you-"

A ball of Light went out and hit Garrosh. He yelled, not from any pain, but from being rooted to the ground, if only temporarily.

"Come," Anduin said. He helped Yrel to her feet and put her right hand over her shoulder. "We must return to the Hall of Storms."

"No," she whispered.

"Yrel?"

She collapsed. "Go," she whispered. "Fight. Save the worthy."

"Yrel!"

Death was taking her. Her blood was staining the cobblestones as surely as it had the dirt. And as surely as blood left her body, so too did consciousness leave her mind.

"Yrel, hold on!"

"I'm sorry…" she whispered, as the darkness took her. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry…"

In the darkness, she could see the being of light. Reaching out for her.

"I'm so sorry…

And then she saw nothing.

##

When she awoke, it was as she always did – with a cry, a gasp, and the taste of despair knowing that the cycle of life and death would begin all over again. Unlike most times however, it was not in the Hall of Storms.

"You've awoken."

Statements of the obvious aside, she looked around. It was still Raven Court, but not the Cursed Hollow. It was the entrance to the Hall of Storms that would lead to the battlefield – the place where she and the other champions had entered. And she herself was lying on a bed, out of her armour.

"Can you stand?"

She glanced around the room. Her armour and hammer were on one side of it. On the other side, standing over her bed was an angel.

"Yrel?"

The one named Tyrael. One who had fought alongside her in that last battle.

"Where?" She whispered. "When?"

"Where is outside the Hollow. When is after the battle?"

"The battle," she whispered. "Did we win?"

Behind the darkness of her hood, Yrel could imagine the Archangel of Justice frowning. "Does it even matter in this place?"

"No," Yrel whispered. She turned over in the bed. "I suppose not." She clutched the sheets, before murmuring, "I suppose we won it in the brief moments after my death."

"As someone who delivered the final blow, I would not call it brief," Tyrael said. "But yes, that is what happened."

Yrel grunted.

"And I know what has happened beyond this place. Why Garrosh did not heed the call to return. Why he hounded you, and you, in turn, fought him in desperation."

Yrel turned over to look at the angel. Her eyes were wide. His eyes were hidden.

"In that sense, I understand his rage. Even in this place, we are attached to our worlds, or at least, those that look like ours."

"Do you…" Yrel took a breath. "Do you…"

"I am the Archangel of Justice, though in this place, justice means nothing. The Realm Lords seek my sword, not my heart."

"But you…me…"

"I am not to judge you Yrel. But while I might suggest you must judge yourself, I will not be so trite. I doubt the ones who harken to Draenor or some version of it will be as quick to forgive as I have." She saw him look away, to the exit. "Now I believe you have another visitor, and as one closer to your world than myself, I will leave you in his hands."

He said nothing more as he exited the room. As he walked past Anduin, who was standing there. Like Yrel, he was out of his armour. Unlike her, he was still armed, Shalamayne still at his side. The angel exited, and silence returned to the room. Silence that Yrel would have gladly taken if it came with the darkness whose name was oblivion.

"Well," Anduin said eventually. "That's interesting. In one breath he says that the outcome of the battle doesn't matter, and in the next, makes it clear that he was the one who delivered the final blow to the enemy."

Yrel turned aside on the bed, wishing that Anduin would go away.

"But then, he is an enigma," Anduin said, and to Yrel's frustration, she could hear him walking over to her. "Angels. Fascinating creatures. It appears that they exist in so many worlds as an idea, but only tangibly exist in one of them." He stopped walking, and Yrel could tell that he'd reached the edge of the bed. "And yet, there is no mention of them in any mythology within the Nexus itself. Is it that because of the Realm Lords, gods are too close to the minds of mortals? Or-"

"Or maybe the people here are without hope, and cannot see the so-called better angels of their nature," Yrel murmured.

"Without hope," Anduin whispered. "Is it the people you describe? Or yourself?"

Yrel turned over to look at the prince. He just stood over her, like Tyrael. Standing in judgement.

"What happened with Garrosh Yrel?"

She turned back over.

"What happened?" Anduin asked.

"I don't think it's any of your business."

"As the one who saw him hound you, as the one who saved you-"

"Saved?!" Yrel not only spun over again, she brought her legs over the side of the bed. "I still perished. I still tasted death, as we always do." She spat onto the floor. "Can you comprehend that, Anduin? The feeling of dying over and over again?"

"I have not been in the Nexus as long as you, but yes, I understand it."

"And have you reached the stage where you pray that after death, you won't be brought back?"

"No," said Anduin firmly. "And Light willing, I never will."

Yrel gave a soft laugh. "Give it time, young prince. You will understand."

"I'm not a prince here."

"No. You're not. And we are no longer allies." Yrel gestured to the window. "When the clarion call sounds, when the Realm Lords pick their champions, there is no guarantee as to whether we will be allies, enemies, or even on the same battlefield. So I suggest you stop wasting your time and-"

"In the space between battles, I will spend my time how I see fit. So in that time, as I see you wounded, I would know the cause." He drew up a chair beside the bed and sat down facing her. "If you would tell me."

Yrel gave him a look, tilting her head to the side like a dumb sheep. For his part, Anduin just stood there. Staring at her. Either he was more politically savvy than his age suggested, or the concern etched on his features wasn't feigned, and for whatever reason, he cared about her wellbeing.

"Why would I tell you?" she murmured.

"I cannot say. But if it would help to voice the wounds I saw…"

"Wounds and words from a monster?"

Anduin looked at her.

"Monster," Yrel repeated. "It is what Garrosh called me, and he had every right to do so, for what I've done."

"What you've done? What could you have possibly done in this place that warrants-"

"Not here, Young Wolf. On Draenor."

"…I don't follow."

"The Lightbound, Anduin," Yrel said. "Have those words reached your ears yet? Before you were plucked across space and time to this place, did you know of them?"

"Maybe." He averted her gaze. "Draenei on Draenor, bound to the Light?"

"Bound to the Light," Yrel said. "Bound to me. Following my orders as I gave the orcs a choice between conversion or death."

"But that isn't you," Anduin said.

"Isn't it?" she whispered.

"Yrel, you were brought here before that happened. Whatever another Yrel has done, or is doing, you cannot be held responsible for it."

"Can't I?" Yrel asked.

Anduin didn't say anything.

"All of us are here. All of us are in worlds elsewhere. If I was not taken before the Blood War, before Light blinded my eyes to mercy, would I have not done these things? Would I have not led my people into a war of vengeance, striking down guilty and innocent alike?"

"And what of Garrosh?" Anduin asked.

"What of him? His sins do not cleanse my own."

"But they aren't his people."

"They are, and you know it. It is in our nature to find solidarity with our own race, even across worlds. You, as a human – do you not feel for those among the stars, slaughtered at the hands of insects? Do you not pity those of your kind at the mercy of Hell? Do you not weep for your kind when fleeing from automata? Do you…" She took a breath. "The people here, Anduin. The ones who are bound to those who see them as little more than disposable soldiers. Do you not feel for them, as they are of your blood?"

Anduin said nothing.

"Do you not?"

He sighed, whispering, "of course I do."

"Exactly. And Garrosh, who knows of what the Lightbound have done to his kind, is powerless to stop it. So when he sees me, his ire is earnt."

"And what of your ire?" Anduin asked. "When you see an orc like Garrosh, when we consider what the orcs did to your people, is your anger not at the surface?"

"Of course. But-"

"But nothing. If we are responsible for the sins of our fathers, so be it. If crimes of one of our kind extends to all of our kind, then so be it. But if that is the path you wish to take, at least walk it equally. Do not walk it alone."

Yrel looked down at the floor.

"Or, if I may say, do not walk it at all."

And looked back up at Anduin. A smile was etched on his features – not patronizing, but simply…kind. Kindness that Yrel rarely saw in this place, for even those who had embraced the better angels of their nature in their own worlds inevitably came to accept the truth of this place. There was the Realm Lords, and there was war. An endless tide of blood as the storm kept churning.

He patted her on the shoulder. "Rest easy," he said. "And take what solace you can before being called to fight once more."

"Wise words from one so young, and one so new," Yrel said. "Why should I listen?"

"I cannot say. But you are listening, and I hope that your wounds are healing. So…" He gave her a bow. "I hope that when we see each other again, it will be under kinder circumstances than this."

Yrel scoffed. "Is that what you say to everyone you fight beside?"

"No, for I am not so naïve as to think that this place will change everyone for the better, or change them at all. Still, I hope you are not changed Yrel. For one who is so full of light, I would hate to see that diminished."

She almost told him as he walked out. She had changed. They'd all change. This place did that to you. She sat on the bed and sighed, placing a hand to the side of her chest. No wound. No scarred flesh. Death was rebirth, and rebirth mended the body, if not the spirit.

But at the least, her heart did not ache as much as it once had.


End file.
